Not Finished Yet

It breaks my heart.

So shattered that, in the sayings of an old children's rhyme, "all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put it together again."

I stand on the shores of a foreign land. I'm an English teacher. I teach 60 kids, three different classes, five days a week (unless sick or otherwise incapacitated). I'm hugging little bundles of precious Karen joy every day. Putting bandaids on wounds. Trying to learn to communicate in this strange language better.

I'm a missionary.

But having been outside of this mission field, I know what people think of this place, this work...and the workers that live here.

It scares me.

Because I know that once someone's gone to the mission field to do God's work, the rest of the world automatically lifts them up. Not necessarily intentionally, but it happens. The missionary travelling to darker lands is seen as a herald of the kingdom--invincible, infallible. Good.

I look at things from the inside out now.

I remember what I thought about the people at Sunshine Orchards.

And now, I am one of the people at Sunshine Orchards.

This trip has been one of the hardest experiences of my entire life--that of everything I brought with me, lost, found, have been learning while here. It's been the biggest blessing in growing me--making me older, bringing me closer to God's ideal.

But it's also been showing how unfit I am to be here in the mission field.

I read blog posts of those that are home still. Friends I know well. I read...and inwardly, for fear of detection, I weep.

Because those I see still at home are far more fit to be tending these children than I. To be teaching. To be, really. To just be.

Far more fit to be here.

Not me.

I don't belong here. Not with the failures I've been subjected to, not with the losses of victory I've experienced. I just don't belong here.

Before I came to Thailand, someone very near and dear to my heart told me that they were amazed at my selflessness. They were so inspired with my willingness to come and serve when so few were willing to go.

My friend, there is no such thing as selflessness in this heart.

And the willingness... I shudder to think... may very well have been pride.

The "door" to my little room just opened a few moments ago. Eh Do Paw, one of the little girls, poked her head in. When she saw me, her face lighted up and she came running in to give me a big hug, cold little cheek pressed against mine. I hugged her back, but the heart is still breaking.

I don't belong here. Someone more fit to love this little girl should be here. 

I just got my tickets home a couple of nights ago. I leave Sunshine Orchards the night of March 16, on a night bus, headed for Bangkok, where a missionary family will pick me up and take me to the airport the next evening so I can fly out at 1:20 am on the 18th.

I have less than two months.

Less.

In a way, I can't wait. I want to see my family, my friends I left behind. I want to see those I've missed for months.

In another way, I don't want to leave. The thought of leaving my kids...my adopted family, who I've been living with for these last months...and the thought of leaving hurts.

But what hurts almost more is that I feel a sort of desperation.

Desperation to get out of the way so someone better can come fill my place.

True, I have learned. And grown. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything.

At the same time... oh, how I wish a more fit soul had been sent.

Point blank, I don't deserve to be here.

And it's enough to reduce me to tears.

So many other seem to have the fire that I wonder if I lack it.

But then, God doesn't call the qualified.

He qualifies the called.

I know I was called.

Heartache and all, I must confess then that God needed me here.

No matter how much better someone else would've done.

Discouragement may hang overheard...and indeed, at present, it does...

But one thing is sure.

My two more months are not up yet.

...and the Lord is not finished with me yet.

Praise God.